


Tower-climber

by ditty (Triple_A)



Series: Not quite the same, but still alright. [4]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Depressed Gavin Reed, Depression, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gavin Reed Needs a Hug, Gavin Reed Whump, Good Friend Tina Chen, Upgraded Connor | RK900 needs to learn how to be a good person, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:40:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22313419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triple_A/pseuds/ditty
Summary: The Revolution is successful. The androids get their rights. Humanity begins its slow adaptation.Months later, Gavin Reed is given a choice; go to counseling, lose his chance at lieutenant...or take on a partner. The RK900 that Cyberlife has sent as a last, desperate good-will gift.Nines just wants to assimilate in a world he wasn't meant to be sent out into.Gavin just wants to put his old prejudices behind him and move on.It's never that easy, is it?: :REWRITE OF NOTHING HAS CHANGED
Relationships: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900, Tina Chen & Gavin Reed, Upgraded Connor | RK900 & Gavin Reed
Series: Not quite the same, but still alright. [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1309919
Comments: 37
Kudos: 132





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just...didn't like the way I wrote the last one. It was hard for me to get into the story, and I plotted it when I was in a bad place, so I am no longer comfortable with many aspects of it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wack

The Revolution wins. The androids have rights. Humanity begins its slow adaptation.

Gavin watches it all from behind closed doors, at home, his cat in his lap and a forgotten bottle of beer dangling from one hand, and the bag of frozen peas he was supposed to be holding to his black eye in the other. He can hardly hear the news reporter talk, not over the clamor from outside. Androids and humans alike are announcing the arrival of a new era by taking it to the streets. Protest and support clash in meaningless noise outside Gavin's window.

A few days ago, Gavin might've marched out and joined them, all anger and bitterness, or gotten piss-drunk at a bar with his hands itching for a fight. But instead, he watches silently, staring at the footage of android camps, the piles of dead and white bodies, and the silent march of them out of Cyberlife; and feels something bone-deep and chilling settle into him that's not from the bag that's sweating icily in his palm.

* * *

A few months later; androids accepted or not, things still _suck_.

Gavin is worked to bones every single day after he returns to work from his concussion, with the new influx of android-related crimes following the Revolution that was only ever increasing. Everything everyone does is android-related, some way or another, and that includes Gavin's division on Ice. It's on one of these rare occasions that he wishes he had a partner-Hank and Connor are handling their workload with the practice of a seasoned team, filing cases away at record speed. He watches them from his desk with a squinted glare-he'll never make lieutenant at this rate.

But fuck them. He turns back to the report at hand, trying to get focused, tapping his pen on the desk with tongue in teeth as he rereads the summary for the nth time. His coffee is cold on his desk, and he wished Tina was around. She was nearly always on patrol now, dealing with all the new people that could be classified as criminals and hauling them in, one at a time. He hasn't spoken to her in days now, other than passing greetings and stuff about work. He wishes she'd hurry up and take the detective exam, like she'd been considering. If there's anyone he'd willingly partner up with, who could also handle his bullshit, it'd be her.

Stupid fucking androids, he was sure Hank hadn't had to file a report since partnering with Connor, which wasn't fair. They couldn't all have magic insta-analysis eyes or whatever. Or fill out these forms with a blink and a buzz. And-

"REED!"

Fowler's foghorn voice makes him jump, pen nib snapping on the desk. A spurt of dark ink bursts forth, soaking the form and splattering on the report tablet. For a moment, he wonders, guiltily, if somehow Fowler had gotten wind of his fucking _thoughts_ and was about to put another warning in his disciplinary for discrimination, and he glances up as he tries to wipe the ink from the tablet with a tissue, doing more in just smearing it over anything. "Jesus, what!"

Somewhere to his side, Hank snickers.

"Get the hell in my office, Reed!" Fowler snaps, and Gavin curses vehemently under his breath. The desk is still smeared, and unless he wiped it quick, it was going to dry into a sticky mess. The report form he had been working on was ruined. But the captain's patience was as short as his temper when it came to Gavin, it seemed, so he leaves the chaos on his desk for later and heads for the fish tank, ignoring the customary stares that follow him.

The office kills sound like a tomb, muting the chatter of the bullpen the moment Gavin steps through the threshold. Several things are odd: Fowler is behind his desk, not looking like he's about to burst a vein at Gavin, for once. The blue holographic screen, usually playing officer ratings, shows the news report on the state of Detroit.

And standing behind the captain is a man, dressed in gaudy white, following Gavin with unblinking eyes.

No, not a man. Not a _human_ man, in any case. Blue markings shimmer on the jacket, triangular insignia boasting a dying company. An android is staring back at Gavin, so still and unmoving that he could be a part of the the surroundings if Gavin's vision was any shittier. If not for the jacket, Gavin might not have noticed him at all.

He looks to Fowler. "The fuck?"

The man only sighs. "Sit down, Reed."

He does not.

Fowler doesn't comment on it, though he looks tempted to argue it, squinting briefly at Gavin before picking up the tablet in front of him and sliding it forward. "Do you recognize this, Reed?"

He does. It's his disciplinary, surprisingly sparse, all things considering. Mostly listing just "conflict among officers", usually meaning another spat with Hank, or "unorthodox methods", usually pointing to his motive for results over rules. Once or twice, "damage to property", usually meaning androids. Quite a few warnings, but only that.

"What about it?"

"Do you know what it _could_ look like?" Oh, Gavin did not like the sound of that. "Do you know what the latest law passed could do to this?"

Not really. It was hard keeping up with the news nowadays, it all blurred together. "No."

"It could take it from this-" Fowler taps Gavin's current file, and it changes. The test for the disciplinary shrinks and fills up the block, and Gavin has to squint to read it. "-to this."

_**GAVIN REED, DET. :** _

_**AGE: 36, DOB: 10.07.2002** _

_**RECORDS OF MISCONDUCT:** _

_**RACIAL DISCRIMINATION, HARASSMENT ON BASIS OF RACE, THREATS ON BASIS OF RACE . . .**_

The list goes on. Gavin's head swims a little with it.

"That was then, though. I haven't done shit since the revolution." He protests, and that was true. He'd stopped bothering the patrol androids, stopped talking to the guys who were still proud of being anti-android. He'd even apologized to Connor, though it was a brief, muttered 'I'm sorry' that no human would've ever heard, and which Connor had only acknowledged with a half-second's hesitation and 'It's okay.'

"I know that. But the higher-ups want to look good and crack down on this." The captain pinches at the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "The latest law wants people who were clearly anti-android before the revolution to either go to counseling, or 'some equivalent thereof to prove unlearned prejudice'-" He puts up air quotes. "-or face some kind of repercussion."

"...So my options are therapy, or...this." He taps the tablet. The idea of walking back into a therapist's office, or any kind of counseling setting, set his teeth on edge and brought back a foul taste in his mouth. "Do I have a choice in this?"

"You do, actually." Now Fowler gestures behind him, acknowledging the white elephant-white android-in the room. "In lieu of 'equivalent thereof', you take on a partner. This is RK900, sent from Cyberlife."

...Oh.

...Oh no.

He's shaking his head before Fowler has even finished his sentence. "No, no, no, no. I'm not-I do _not_ need a partner." Forget whatever he was thinking about earlier. "Much less-you know."

"I _do_ know, and I also know the argument you had with me over the last time you were sent to counseling." The memory brings a flush to his neck. Some people would've described in far harsher words than 'argument', Gavin knew that 'tantrum' had been one of them floating around for days after that incident. "Cyberlife has requested with a previous anti-android stance to match RK900's cooperative abilities, and you fit the bill. And who knows, maybe it'll teach you how to _work with people_ , for once." The last words have an edge on it that don't allow for protest.

Gavin decides to protest anyways. "I am not fucking working with one of Cyberlife's goodwill gifts, and I am _not_ fucking working with Connor's baby clone." He spits, glaring at the android, still stoic and unmoving. The android gives no response, _of course it doesn't_.

Fowler's hand comes down on the desk in an instant break in composure, some of his old anger peeking through. "Dammit, Reed, that's exactly the shit you're not supposed to fucking say! Not now, not then, not ever." He snarls. "I'm putting my fucking neck out for you to give you a chance at Hank's position, not because he doesn't deserve it anymore, but because you've been biting at everyone's ankles for an inch of ground and being a pain in my goddamn ass. Why do you think I'm offering you this opportunity before anyone else?" His voice drops to a hiss, and he points a finger in Gavin's direction. "Don't throw this back in my fucking face, because I swear to shit, anything else you say along those lines might get you worse than just a slap on the wrist."

The message is loud and clear. Hold his tongue or give up his chance at lieutenant, or worse, his badge. There's a clear line in the sand, and for all Gavin's usual recklessness, he did not want to toe it.

"...Fine." He grumbles, arms crossed. "Fine, I'll take the partnership."

"Knowing you, he'll probably come back within a week requesting a transfer anyways." Fowler says drily. "You partner with him for three months. If all goes well, the partnership will be indefinite. Otherwise, he'll get reassigned."

That helps a little bit, but not much. But if he could deal with Hank's drunkenness for several plus years, he could handle this tin asshole for three months. He looks to the android, still cool and unmoved. Still statue-like. Still creepy. "You got a name, or something?"

The android's head tilts. "My current designation is RK900." Monotone voice. Was this really Connor's upgrade? At least Connor didn't trip into a pit into uncanny valley. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Detective Reed."

RK900 extends a pale, perfect hand to shake, and only then did Gavin realize the ink still staining his fingers, smudged messily over calloused knuckles.

* * *

It starts off okay.

It's awkward at first. RK900 is still clearly learning, hesitant in everything he does when it comes to socializing. Talking slowly, forgetting to blink, smiling too unnaturally to be pleasant. It's almost pitiful to watch, but it's not Gavin's job to help him make friends. The closest he comes to saying anything non-work related is telling RK900 he couldn't stand calling him by his full designation, 'Ar-kay-nine-hundred', what a goddamn mouthful.

"It is my designation," RK900 says again, and Gavin fights the urge to put his head against his desk.

"Can't you pick another one?" He says, exasperated, hands thrown in the air. "Deviants get to choose their own names, or whatever, right?"

"Connor kept his designated name-"

"Okay, fine. Then choose a nickname, or something."

"Like what?"

"God, I don't know! Connor Junior, or something. RK. K9."

"K9 is the term commonly used to refer to the canine unit of the police force." Gavin genuinely can't tell when the android's being condescending or not, not when everything he says is emotionless and accompanied by off-kilter looks of curiosity, that don't fit right on his face.

"I know that! I'm just listing options."

"Can a nickname be a digit?" He asks, and Gavin holds back a long-suffering sigh. He's tired of this line of conversation already.

"Yes. Fine. Do you want to be called Nines? That's fine."

"Do you think people will like it?" The question freezes Gavin, and he looks up.

"Are you serious?"

"Why would I not be?"

"Yes, fine," he sighs. "Believe me, it's a decent name to call yourself, it's not the worst thing in the world to name yourself after a digit."

And so RK900 became Nines. And the conversation ended with Nines asking Gavin how to 'assimilate more with people', and Gavin seriously questioning if Nines was deviant.

"I don't know, I barely talk to people as it is. Figure it out yourself." Gavin grumbles, ignoring the android that trails behind him as he makes his way out the door. "Go with the flow, I guess. Find what other people talk about and talk about that too. Now piss off, I'm going home."

* * *

_Go with the flow?_

RK900- **TEMPORARY DESGINATION:** Nines-considers the words as he settles in for the night, in his state-provided one-room apartment. The walls are bare, except for the one opposite the window, where his charging station resides in the corner. He should enter stasis, but his OS buzzes, searching, analyzing, comparing. Trying to understand.

He is not built to want. But he _wants_ , so badly, to be wanted.

It has been difficult. Cyberlife has ejected him into a setting with no preparation, no programming, no mission-Detective Reed has no interest in socializing with him or advancing their relation beyond **PARTNER**. Connor has attempted to assist, but it is clearly difficult. Nines does not share his capability for social adaptation-he must learn it himself.

It is terrifying, and difficult, and he is not built to get frustrated either. And yet.

And yet.

He pulls up the auditory logs of the day he arrived upon the precinct, skimming the recordings. As though they contain a clue to understanding Detective Reed's advice, instruction. 'Find what other people talk about.' 'Go with the flow.'

_...footsteps. Fowler enters. Stops. Heartrate spikes. "Jesus, what the hell?!"_

_He responds. "Hello, Captain Fowler. I am RK900, the android sent-"_

_"Ah, fuck, could've warned me. Christ, give a man a heart attack, will you?" Heartrate reduces, nearly to normal. No sign of heart failure. "Can't believe this. Do you have-your dossier-?"_

He fast forwards. This is uninteresting. This is unhelpful.

_...People are filing into the bullpen. He can hear footsteps, chatter, clinks of cups and pens and cardboard boxes of donuts, cellophane crinkling, the chug of the coffee machine, circa 2020. Distinct conversations filing into his awareness, muted but audible. Fowler's office is not entirely insulated from sound. It trickles through the cracks in the door, the slits of the vent._

_The slide of a chair on the floor. Fowler's low huff as he stands, walks, the door creaks. The auditory input increases significantly._

_"REED!"_

_Reed-Detective Gavin Reed-the summary of the man is in his OS, but he pushes that away. He can hear the click of a pen, low cursing, hushed whispers. A soft chuckle from one direction. Low conversation from the others._

_"What do you think-?"_

_"-in for it this time-"_

_"-fired, maybe? Hopefully-"_

_"-erves him right. He's a pain in the ass-"_

_..."-a pain in my goddamn ass," Fowler is echoing later, and Gavin's breathing is irregular, hitching. The low hum of air conditioning above them._

_The pause-_ hesitance- _before Gavin says: "Fine."_

 **CONCLUSION:** The Detective doesn't want him either.

It is unhelpful. Nines knows. He knows in how the Detective seems loathe to be seen with him, though he is silent on his discomfort. He knows in how the Detective avoids Nines the moment the shift is done, how he offers Nines nothing, _no acknowledgement no recognition nothing_ , when Nines finishes a report or comes to a conclusion or analyzes evidence and gives Gavin the summary. 

But-he glances back through the recording-and draws another realization.

 **CONCLUSION:** The Detective isn't wanted either.

_Go with the flow._

* * *

"Ah, shit-"

He slips on ice when he's stepping out the car, coffee sloshing over his wrist. He barely catches himself, hissing through his teeth. The liquid is lukewarm, thankfully, but already he knows it'll be drying sticky and uncomfortable on his skin later. He had neglected to grab napkins back at the precinct.

"Be careful, Detective." Nines is standing behind him, of course he is, quiet, stoic bastard. He bites the retort back-he doesn't need a plastic babysitter, or another fucking reminder of his imperfect human grace-"Your incompetency is showing."

...

"What?"

He turns to Nines, who has a small smile on his face. A smirk. A few meters away, Chris, who must have heard the exchange, stifles a surprised laugh in his wrist.

"I apologize, but I felt it necessary to point out. Before you create a bigger mess of yourself." Nines adds carelessly, and this time it's Ben who chuckles, quickly morphing it into a cough in his elbow. Gavin feels something in his blood run cold that has nothing to do with the weather.

The immediate retort on his tongue gets bitten off in memory of Fowler's ultimatum. "Didn't know you did banter now." He says instead, evenly.

"I am capable of learning new tricks," Nines says carelessly, with a shrug. The 'unlike you' is silent but not unheard. "I would advise you to finish your drink now. We would not want spillage and contamination at the crime scene."

The idea of finishing off his coffee is no longer appetizing, but he scowls and chugs the rest, crumpling the cup in his hand to throw in a nearby bin. He's thinking too much about this-so Nines has learned how to clap back. Good for him. Gavin doesn't need to throw caution to the wind just to fire back a response, it's not worth his reputation or his badge.

"Are you coming, Detective? The body might be dead, but it would be easier to analyze if you hurried up."

"Yeah, yeah." He grumbles, and tries to put on the imitation of a chuckle, though it's not very funny. It is to some other beat cop, though, who snickers quietly into his tablet. "No need to harp on me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gav go get a therapist petition


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quarantine time is writing time

Gavin’s determined not to let it get to him. He smiles and laughs off all of Nines's teasing, and pretends he doesn't hear the others laughing along with him. At him. He keeps his retorts to a minimum; Nines only mocked him in front of others, and Gavin knew all too well that there were plenty of people who would like to get rid of him, and would take any retaliation on his part as an excuse to get him fired.

But it does sting, when he looks up one day and sees Nines standing in the break room, surrounded by other officers, laughing and creating a general stir of pleasant conversation, and he's sure that the topic of conversation is himself. It stings more when he realizes Tina is among the throng, smiling along with the rest of them with a cup of coffee in her hand.

And- _it's not fair_.

It doesn't feel fair, it feels kind of like a horrible betrayal, as ridiculous as it is. Tina is _his_ friend, his confidant, the one person who has reliably stuck with him through thick and thin. It's stupid—given their trust, he knows he shouldn't jump to conclusions, not with her, and yet—

And yet.

She's sitting on one of the stools by a table in the break room and is laughing so hard at something Nines just said that she can hardly drink her coffee, and something in Gavin's gut turns with dread.

It's fine. It's fine. Tina's allowed to have other friends, and it's _childish_ to try and hog her for himself. He has other people to talk to if he gets really bored, and he wasn't the type to get lonely so easily. Even if her friend was Nines. It's fine.

He turns back to the terminal, rubbing at his eyes with a sigh. He's exhausted.

He considers getting up for a cup of coffee, before another peal of laughter comes from the break room.

* * *

Nines is _happy_.

At least, he thinks he is. He is certainly no longer lonely, he is surrounded by coworkers, and his relation status with them is ever changing. For many of them, the status is "Companion". No longer "Stranger", not so many "Hostile".

(None of them are 'Friend', none, not yet.)

He is wanted. He is happy.

He is-

-content?

No.

_He is not. He is not content, and he feels this in the way the happiness vanishes the instant he is alone, any moment he is alone, or alone with Gavin, and there's nothing but empty space and silence and the hostility between them that is laid bare in mandated politeness-_

Humans are fickle. They are unpredictable, and for all of his programming-his immaculate programming, his careful codes-he knows that he will not be relevant forever. He is terrified that they might leave him, that they might grow bored of his antics and leave him and he will be alone again. He cannot let that happen. He cannot afford it.

So he categorizes what he knows.

  * Officer Miller leans forward on the table with his hands clasped around a mug and foot hooked around the other ankle. When he doesn’t talk about work, he talks about his son, Damian, who is nearing a year old and dangerously adorable, or his wife, who is the light of his life.
  * Detective Collins takes black tea with a healthy dose of milk and a less healthy dose of sugar. He has a passion for old science movies: Star Trek and the like, things that had long since left the popular sphere by the late 2020s. There are posters by his desk to testify to that, and a little miniature spaceship by his monitor.
  * Officer Persons likes to sit on the counter and ironically takes black coffee out of a pastel pink mug. To further that line of thought, she likes soft things. A line of plush toys are lined up at her desk, and her stationary is colored in pale pinks and purples. She glares fiercely at anyone who might question it, daring them to comment.
  * Lieutenant Anderson takes his coffee at his desk, but he ventures more and more into the break room at Connor’s insistence. He has an affinity for heavy metal. Knights of the Black Death. Basketball and his dog, Sumo, and (as Nine has learned from Connor) making fun of bad movies. Beer and pizza and other unhealthy habits.
  * Officer Wilson rarely ever has his nametag on straight and takes energy drinks over coffee. The soft tap of his leg against the table proves this habit to be a little abused. His mind is drawn to comedy, old shows like The Office and The Good Place that reruns every Sunday. He likes cooking, also; the general consensus is that he can make a mean omelette and a great lasagna, but little else.
  * And Officer Chen-



He has not spoken as much to Officer Chen, asides polite greetings and 'small talk'. She is not an outlier; the others talk to her casually and easily enough, and now and again she'll snort at whatever thing Nines says. Nor is she an enigma; he sure he can understand her, he has simply _not_ _tried hard enough_.

Nines watches her choke on her drink while laughing at some video Chris showed her of his kid, and skims quickly through what he knows of her. He knows she has some kind of working relationship with Gavin, and though their interactions are few and far between, they are casual and not forced. She takes coffee either straight black or heavily diluted with creamer and sweeteners. Her phone case is blue and embossed with cartoon images of shiba inu puppies. An engagement ring, gold and blue zircon, is on her right hand, though she talks little about her significant other. Sometimes, he spies doodles on the yellow pad of notes that sits at her desk, meaningless things and caricatures done with a lazy pen.

But beyond that-

-nothing.

But everyone else-

He watches Connor take over the conversation with ease, in the lull of Nines's commentary, talking casually of the news and sports and people, places, things, and the others follow him. The others grant him their attention. And Nines is-

He is-

 _envious_.

(He must do better.)

* * *

The days flatten out into a pattern.

Gavin goes to work. He works on reports and on cases and suffers through all of Nines's little gripes and snipes. He bites his tongue when Nines makes some little comment at his expense and clenches his teeth harder when he hears laughter follow it. He goes home and feeds his cat and eats a meager dinner of cheap takeout. He smokes, breathing the air out the window in his bedroom. He goes to bed. He lies awake for what feels like hours.

It's been getting harder to sleep these days.

It's strange, feeling both full of thoughts and yet hollow of anything, to the point where the two cancel out and he's left in static. It's also familiar, though he hasn't felt this way for a very long time. He told himself he wouldn't let this happen again.

But he's still lying in bed staring at the ceiling, watching the blue numbers of his alarm clock tick away.

(The blue is too dark to match that of an LED, but if Gavin squints and watches the light bend in his blurred vision; it close enough.)

Logically, he knows Nines words have no meaning to them. It's just harmless teasing. It's hardly anything compared to what he used to say of Connor or any other android, really, so he should let it go and bear it.

 _But,_ some hidden part of him mutters. _No one has stopped Nines yet. And that may be because the things he says are all true._

He shakes his head. One hand itches for the drawer of his sleep meds, but he hates the aftereffects that follow. The nauseating cottony feeling in his brain that makes him feel stupider than he usually does, and he's sure that if he takes them then Nines would surely notice and comment. And he's not about to give Nines more ammunition, even if his recent grumpy sleeplessness is more than enough for the android to make fun of.

Something steps on his chest. He grunts.

"Turtle..." He grumbles, and the cat stares back with big yellow eyes. Turtle meows, claws digging into Gavin's chest, and he groans. The cat wanted to go out. Of course he did, because Gavin had been neglecting to let him outside for the past few days, as numbed out as he was by stress and exhaustion. "M'sorry, Turt. Not tonight."

The cat meows back, annoyed, but the pressure alleviates from Gavin's chest and he sighs. He turns over and forces his eyes closed when he sees the glowing 1:03, staring back at him from his nightstand. There's a cool breeze on his back from the window, and it's comforting. He can feel it on the fine hairs on the back of his neck.

* * *

Nines steps from the bus before the department at precisely 7:58. He has entered the doors and taken his seat at precisely 8:00.

The desk across from him stays empty for twenty minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> say goodbye to the cat now bc you're not gonna see him for a few more chapters


	3. Chapter 3

The cat was gone.

_Fuckin' hells._

Gavin curses himself all the way up the hallway to the kitchen and as he pulls down a can of cat food, the expensive kind, grinding it open with a rusty can opener and dumping it into Turtle's dish. He's already late to work, but he does one last scan for the cat, calling his name as he sets the bowl by the open window in his bedroom.

There's no reply except for that of some asshole walking down the street, aiming a "Shut the fuck up!" back at Gavin's window. Gavin would reply if he wasn't half-jittered with worry.

_Where the fuck was that cat?!_

Not beneath any of the furniture. Not in any of the cupboards or shelves. There was nowhere else Turtle could've gone-

-except-

-out the window.

Fucking hell.

His phone buzzes with what must have been the hundredth message from one of his coworkers, Tina most likely, telling him Fowler was on a rampage and that he better get his ass over there quick, and Gavin's almost ready to throw his phone at the wall. Instead he forces himself to take a breath, to calm the fuck down.

Turtle wasn't a purely indoor cat. He had found Turtle as a stray. The cat could make it a day on the streets, and it was more likely the cat would get picked up by some well-meaning old lady or curious android and coddled safely. The neighbors surrounding Gavin seemed to be strangely dominated by old ladies and animal-adoring deviants. And anyways, he could put up adverts after work. He was in deep enough shit with Fowler to call out now, twenty minutes after his shift started.

 _Fucking_ hell.

* * *

The man appears nearly forty minutes after eight, more disheveled than usual and frantic.

Nines watches him enter the bullpen, agitation radiating off him like a shield, and not one second later Fowler's voice was demanding Detective Reed's presence in a foghorn. Reed curses furiously, throws his jacket onto his chair and stalks off, glaring bloody murder at anyone who glanced at him a moment too long.

The moment the door slides shut, people begin to move. Talking in hushed tones like they doubted the structural assurance of Fowler's soundproofed walls. Falling into that first pattern Nines had noticed when he first arrived, quiet mutters that were negative in majority. About Detective Reed.

"Jesus. What's up his ass?"

"No idea. Surely this is the last time-"

"Why Fowler puts up with him, I can't imagine-"

"-maybe this'll be the last straw. I sure hope so, at least-"

"...-ines. Hey, Nines!"

He looks up just in time to see one of the android officers seat themself on his desk, and Nines politely refrains from telling them off. The desks were not meant for sitting, but that unspoken rule often went ignored when not in a formal or serious presence. And Arel broke the rule frequently, on many occasions including now.

He didn't dislike Arel. Arel was an interesting character, and seemed to stick by Nines like a humanoid barnacle. They liked old movies and musicals and the general tomfoolery that came from people who liked cartoon violence. They greatly disliked Detective Reed (as they so eloquently put it: "He's a bitch and I don't like him.") and thought Nines was cool ("Big, silent type, right? I'm into it.") and were an overall loud and vocal caricature, who cracked jokes and 'shot-the-shit' in a way Nines couldn't hope to match.

"Arel," Nines says in greeting, and the android grins cheekily back.

"Ninety-Niner," Arel responds in kind, one ankle propped on opposite knee. Entirely at ease. Maybe a little too much so. "What's up with your partner? He hasn't been late in a while."

"I am not sure. He did not respond to any of my earlier messages or calls." Gavin had ignored all of them, and Nines felt only a little (a little...he searches for the word) _stung_ by the treatment. "He seems distressed."

"He's sure acting like it too. Hey, do you think this is what gets him fired?" They ask eagerly. "I mean, he's been a thorn in everyone's side for a long time. Do you think this is what'll finally get Fowler to snap?"

"I am not sure," Nines repeats. "Fowler is understanding to when people are suffering out-of-work problems. Regardless of his behavior here, Gavin is not necessarily exempt from that."

"Ach. What a pain."

"Hm."

Chen casts them an odd look from across the pen. A momentary, unreadable glance.

"Hey, are you doing anything in a week?"

Nothing at all. But Connor had taught him that there were times that his brutal, blunt honesty could be considered discomfiting. That other people usually did not find beings who spent free time 'sitting in utter silence in an empty apartment' to be a very appealing trait, though they were more amicable to it when phrased as 'meditating'. "Why do you ask?"

"There's a live performance in the square being held by an android-human acting troupe. The proceeds are going to rebuilding efforts." They extend a palm, which lights up with a glowing miniature of the performance advert. "It's mostly various little acts, but there's going to be a small reimagining of _Hamlet,_ among other things."

"Ah." Nines looks at the little glowing advert, hovering on Arel's palm. "Looks fun."

"Yeah, doesn't it?" Arel looks to him all smiling and bright-eyed. Nines wished they still had their LED; it was common practice for deviants to discard their own, but Nines found himself wishing for the little light, the little 'tell' that let him read emotions that weren't just 'fear' or 'anger'. "You wanna come with?"

"Okay." He says, and they pump their fist. A victory for them.

The low creak of Fowler's door prompts another rush of quiet over the officers, as Detective Reed enters the bullpen with a look of barely-suppressed fury. He makes a direct line for his desk, and Arel scurries off of Nines's table surface and away.

"Detective Reed," Nines begins, with the intention of reminding him to read over the latest report on one of their cases, and Reed does not acknowledge him. He grabs his jacket and storms in the direction of the employees exit.

* * *

"Mother _fucker!_ "

Gavin curses bitterly all the way into the alleyway, when he sits heavily on the cement stairs that lead to the employee parking lot and digs in his pockets. He comes up with what he needs; a crunched and faded back of cigarettes, and a cheap, gas-station lighter that was running on fumes. He lights a stick, stuffs the carton away and sucks in the acrid smoke with a vengeance. "Fucking, cock-sucking son-of-a-bitch-"

It takes a few moments for him to calm down, the anger simmering down enough for him to think through what had just happened. Fowler had called him in for being late, of course. To chew him out for being late, of-fucking course. And then-and then-

" _We're giving your case to the FBI,_ " He mimics in a sing-song bastardization of Fowler's statement. " _Since you're not gettin' any-fucking-where with it._ "

The Rides case. It was a big one for the homicide department, a family found all dead at the dinner table, stove still warm. An anomaly in itself, and then the scenario repeated itself a few months later, and again a year after that, in different neighborhoods, with entirely different classes of wealth. He'd been waxing over it for ages, and even more when Nines came around, just to have something to do. And now, just when he started to make progress, he was unceremoniously booted and told that a bunch of pretentious assholes with badges could do a better job.

Another inch dug out of his god-damn grave.

_Motherfucker._

The door creaks behind him. He grits his teeth. "If you're going to tell me off for smoking, Nines, do it over my deathbed," He spits, and a pair of footsteps stop just behind him.

"Jesus, morbid much?" A decidedly not-Nines voice snorts, and he glances up to see Tina looking down. "I didn't know you still smoked."

"Started not long after meeting the plastic," He grumbles, but he scoots over on the step and she sits down next to him. Wordlessly, she holds out a hand, and he passes her the cigarette. "I thought you stopped too."

"Yeah." She takes a long inhale, and coughs like a gunshot. It echoes in the empty cement walls of the car park. "Yep, still as shitty as I remember. Here."

He snorts. Classic Teeny.

They're quiet for a while, passing the cigarette back and forth until it's just a stub, with Tina forgoing most of the times it makes it into her hands, in favor of tapping out the ash and staring at the curling smoke. Finally, she breaks the silence. "So what's up?"

"Nothing."

"Bullshit." She plucks the stub and grinds it out against the step, where it joins a small collection of other cigarette butts rotting in the crannies or the stairs. "You haven't smoked casually since high school, and you only do it when something's really eating you."

"Maybe I just wanted the nostalgia of a simpler time."

"If high school is your idea of a simpler time, I've got news for you buddy."

He snorts again, running a thumb over his knuckles. Calloused and scarred up for years of a foul temper. Nothing like Nines's, and he hates himself for even thinking that. "Just pissed, is all. Fowler gave the Rides case to the FBI. My partner is the poster-boy for a sociopath. My cat ran away." He rubs a patch of skin by his thumb. where a line of scar tissue evokes the memory of Turtle's claws, before Gavin had the good sense to get a proper scratching post.

"Oof. Rough week?"

"The worst."

She leans and bumps her head to his shoulder, a wordless comfort. "In order of appearance; if the FBI show up to gloat about it, maybe we can get Hank to deck Perkins again. And film it this time. And yeah, I can see how Nines might be annoying. And shit, not Turtle? How'd that happen?"

"Shit, yeah Turtle. I forgot to close the window last night, I guess." He shrugs. "I put out some cat food, and I'll go make some adverts after work and put them up. Go check in with the local shelters to see if they picked up any asshole cats recently."

"Do you want me to help? I can help you ask around."

"Sure." He reaches for another cigarette, and she slaps his hand away from his jacket pocket. "Dammit."

"That's enough moping for today, alright? If you're gonna be sad, there'll be no cancer sticks involved."

"Fine. But that means you have to stay with me for the rest of this smoke break." And he leans his head against the top of hers, the dark hair tickling at his cheek.

She laughs, a vibration against his skull. "Deal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhh college decisions due todayyyyy
> 
> tina and gavin are buds i will stan this dynamic until the day i die


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man eff cops

**RIDES CASE**

**LEAD DETECTIVE(S): DETECTIVE GAVIN REED, RK900 **#313 248 317 - 87 "NINES"****

**COLLABORATING LEADING OFFICER(S): FBI SPECIAL AGENT RICHARD PERKINS**

**COLLABORATING OFFICER(S): FBI SPECIAL AGENT EVERETT YALE, FBI...**

Nines reads the email with a glance, thinking. Contemplating.

So the case 'went to the dogs', as Lieutenant Anderson might say. There was a general disdain for the FBI that was shared by the precinct, and Nines could sympathize with the sentiment. The few FBI agents he had ever met had not left pleasant impressions.

Still; Gavin's sudden anger (' _Tantrum,_ _'_ some of the others had muttered when they heard) was mostly inexplicable. The FBI were irksome, but Gavin was still heading the investigation. Which lead Nines to believe that his stout anger to be linked to a personal reason, a vendetta of sorts.

Whatever vendetta that was, he did not try to find out. Connor, after discovering Nines's habit of scanning and analyzing the personal data of any person they met, implored the other android to try and build his own interpretations of people based on what they let him learn, and not what he read himself from a simple scan. Lieutenant Anderson supported this, with more layman terms: 'It's called respecting privacy, kid. People don't want you to know what they don't tell you.'

(That conversation had devolved into a series of arguments, back and forth, in which Nines defended the action as being 'careful and ensuring no contact with potential violent characters', and Connor and Hank insisting that it was 'common courtesy, and anyways, just a scan of legalities doesn't necessarily tell you what a person's character is like.')

But back to the point: his partner was more snappish than usual. The Rides case was likely the reason. And Nines, admittedly curious, was determined to find out why, in as polite and normal a manner as he could manage first, as per Connor's wishes.

And speaking of his partner.

Detective Reed turned up to the precinct late again, but the lack of attention from Fowler likely meant that the man had called in first. There were dark shadows around his eyes, a sour frown frozen on his sallow face. He slouches into his chair, nudges the mug of cold coffee that had gone untouched from the previous day, stares blankly at the terminal's glowing screen, and asks:

"Any chance I could ask you to make me a coffee?"

"Your caffeine intake is already above average for a male of your physique and age," Nines replied. "In combination with your smoking habits, I would highly advise against-"

"Okay, Jesus. You could've just said 'no.'" He pinches at his brow, squeezing his eyes shut. "Whatever, fine. What's our workload for today? Remind me."

"A filed report on the last suspect you took in. Signing off on a few pieces of evidence from previous cases. And meeting with the head FBI officer later today, in discussion for the Rides case."

At that, Detective Reed froze. "Wait, what? Who?"

"There was an email sent this morning on the topic. As head detective on the case, you have a responsibility-"

"No, okay, fucking. I get it. Who's the Fed we gotta meet?"

"Special Agent Richard Perkins."

At that, Reed groans, running a hand over his face. "Fuck me. Not that guy," He mumbles. "That fucking asshole..."

Special Agent Richard Perkins. A formerly impressive character in the FBI lineup, up until the recent Revolution that had led to his inevitable infamy. Most relevant search results regarding the man pulls up articles on Android camps, the raid on Jericho, and (the most trafficked site) a shaky phone video of the man getting punched in the precinct. Nines suspects the blurry fist that did the deed belonged to Lieutenant Anderson.

All very valid reason to hate the man; but none that could be personally tied to Reed. Not enough to elicit this sort of response.

He waits until the man's complaints die off before asking: "If I may, detective."

"Fuck." He gets in reply.

"Why does the thought of working with Agent Perkins distress you?" Reed stiffens immediately, though still half-slumped in his chair, as Nines continues: "I suspect it would be a personal reason, to create this sort of reaction, and I would prefer not to remind you to leave emotions to the side in face of professionalism-"

"It's none of your business."

"Perhaps not, but if it interferes with your work ethic, then it would become my business-"

"It's nothing. It's fine. Don't worry about it"

"It is evidently not fine if it has driven you to such a state. I cannot work with a partner who is...handicapped by a personal grudge." Nines watches as Reed's face pulls into an ugly snarl, bloodshot eyes narrowing. His fists are clenched against the desk surface and trembling, almost imperceptibly. "If you do not intend to tell me yourself, then I will resort to-"

And then something is flying towards his face, his sensors reacting only just on time to snatch it out of the air with a crack of plastic on ceramic, before it connects with his nose. Not that that does much. The mug's contents had gone everywhere, mostly on Nines's face, and the mug itself is empty in Nines's palm.

Gavin is standing, chest heaving and arm still outstretched from where he had just hurled the cup of stale coffee at Nines's face, watching the liquid drip down and stain the white jacket. The bullpen falls silent immediately, and Nines wonders if this is what is meant by the term 'time standing still.' Everything seems frozen, in the same quality as the moment before a pre-constructed course of events might.

And then Detective Reed turns. Shoulders stiff. Heart-rate and breathing elevated. Barking a 'What're you looking at? Get back to work!' at the surrounding officers, making a beeline for the break room. Nines watches him go, still distinctly aware of the coffee dripping down his face. If he doesn't wipe it off soon, it will congeal, and become a pain to remove. It is bad enough that it has soaked into his jacket.

Though maybe that was a good thing? He sets the mug down gingerly and removes his jacket, taking care not to drip any more than necessary. The blue Cyberlife logo still emblazoned, untouched by the coffee and standing out even more brightly against the darkened fabric. Arel had always been telling him to change his wardrobe. Even Connor had done so already, and logically, there was no reason to adhere to the dress code of an extinct and ruined company.

But...the jacket had been his. One of the few things he could call 'his' that was not given to him out of pity or need.

For the second time that day, something flies towards his face.

This time he takes the extra processing power to identify it before trying to catch it blindly. For a moment, he thought that Reed might've returned with another cup of coffee, but the projectile is a low temperature, and is in fact, a wad of paper towels. It slaps wetly against his palm, and he can detect the chemical makeup of dish soap in the water that drips from it, running down his forearm.

"Here," Reed drops another clump of wet paper in his lap. "I'm going to take a smoke break. Call me if you need me."

And then he is gone.

The moment the door clicks to indicate his departure, the bullpen becomes noisy again, a mix of the usual complaints of the Detective in combination with whispered rumors as to what could've triggered _this_ outburst, this time around. Arel comes up to him quickly, picking up one of the towels to dab at Nines's hair, fussing over him and complaining all the while about the man responsible for the mess.

Nines barely notices. He is occupied, his mind elsewhere. His jacket is still in his arms, the stain quickly drying up along with any hopes of washing it out. His terminal screen still glows with the email, with the name RICHARD PERKINS staring back at him.

* * *

The empty cigarette carton Gavin throws across the parking lot is nearly as satisfying as a good punch, but he has to take what he can get.

_Stupid, prying plastic bastard._

He seethes. His last cigarette is clamped in his teeth, and he can hardly stop his hands shaking enough to light the damn thing properly. In the end, he gives up, and hurls the lighter too, the translucent green plastic cracking on the cement and bouncing at least twice.

At least it was a little more satisfying then the cardboard carton.

His ears ring. The edges of his shirt sleeves are still damp from when he'd run some paper towels under water for the tin can, and cold in the Detroit breeze as he tries to force himself into breathing deep, each breath stinking of trash from the factories and whatever else wafted in from the lovely slum sides of town.

Fuck Nines. Fuck Perkins, too. Fuck Fowler, and Anderson, and Connor and every shitty decision that led him here, in this situation.

"Hey, Gav?"

He spins. " _What,_ " He snarls, ready to vent the anger on whoever had interrupted him; but it's Tina. Of course it is. Looking mildly disappointed to catch him with a cigarette, but unsurprised.

She surveys the scene, taking it all in: him, standing there with an unlit, crooked cigarette; the carton, lying a few feet away and thoroughly crumpled; and the lighter, lying a further distance and forlorn on the stone floor. She sighs, and pulls a lighter from her own pocket, a little silver zippo that was some gift from a past girlfriend, though Gavin didn't remember the details.

"C'mere." And he leans forward and lets her light the cigarette, before she snaps the lid closed with a click. "You really need to break this habit. That's the last time I'm sparing you a light."

"That's what you said last time," Gavin mutters. The nicotine isn't as soothing as he hoped, but he sucks it in anyways. "What're you doing out here?"

"Looking for you. Figured you'd be here after your...argument?" She looks to his face for confirmation. "Fight? Whatever, in any case you seemed pissed."

"I _am_ pissed."

"Nice to meet you, Pissed. Tell me your problems."

Gavin snorts humorlessly. He leans against the stone wall of the car park, hair scraping the rough grain as he tilts his head back, watching the smoke curl. "It's nothing. Just on edge, is all."

"Because of the cat?"

"Mhm. The cat, the case. My fucking android partner," He rubs a thumb over his palm. He can still remember the shape of the cup he had thrown, fully expecting it to shatter against Nines's plastic face. "And Perkins."

"Perkins? Shit, don't tell me..."

"Yeah." He takes another foul lungful of smoke. "He's on the Rides case."

Perkins. The smug, foul bastard. Gavin only had the pleasure of meeting him once, but it was a sour experience. If he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could still remember the man's curled smirk beneath his fake sympathy, smell the thick fog of Ice and smoke from the crime scene where they had met. Feel the slick wetness of blood and thirium and spittle on his palms like a burn. Condescending voice, s _hould've left this to the FBI, kid._

A hand touches his shoulder. "Hey. It's gonna be alright, right? You're a great detective, you'll figure out the Rides case and get Perkins off your back. And three months will be up and Nines'll get off your back too."

"You're just saying that to cheer me up."

"Is it working? Better question," She holds up her hands when he goes to argue. "Am I wrong? I didn't say anything impossible, technically."

"No...guess not." She was right. In the end, the Rides case was just another case. He either solved it or he didn't, thought he didn't know if his bruised and strained pride could take another blow if he failed it. Perkins was a total bitch and a nuisance, but he couldn't stick around forever. And Nines?

Two months, and Nines would be out of his hair forever and things would fall back into normal.

Almost normal.

The haze of anger dissipates, though not entirely. Less like some smoke in a stiff breeze and more like an oil spill in a stream. He forces his shoulders to relax and takes a deep inhale, relishing the smoke that rasped against his throat.

"Got any grand logical conclusions to make me feel better about my cat?" He asks, and Tina huffs.

"Probably very well and alive and being spoiled to high hell by some old granny. You'll probably get a call from a geriatric in the same apartment building and get Turtle delivered to you, all fat." She shrugs. "He'll turn up eventually."

It's not as comforting as he had hoped. But she doesn't seem pressed to say more, apparently pleased with herself at having diffused him, and he can't bring himself to ruin that mood. "Damn it. He better not be. He already smothers me half to death at night."

"Don't body-shame your cat."

"I'll do whatever I want. He's a heavy bastard. I love him."

Tina snorts, and slaps him on the back. "If you're done with that cigarette, I think we should head back. You still gotta apologize to the android before he kicks up a fuss with Fowler."

He'd almost forgotten. Something twists unpleasantly at the memory of it; the coffee hadn't been hot, but it wasn't like Nines would've been able to feel the temperature anyways (something something...'Advanced prototype, modified temperature settings, etcetera, etcetera.') and if anything, the cold coffee would've been more likely to stain.

He wonders if he should just throw in the towel now. Apology or not, it was unlikely he would get away with that stunt, especially given all the assholes who had been watching it go down. But it couldn't hurt. He did still care about this job, despite _everything._

"Right," He says hollowly. He stubs out his cigarette and follows Tina towards the door. "Right."

* * *

"I simply do not _understand,_ Connor," Nines is ~~complaining~~ saying, later, as they stand around the bathroom sink with the water running into a basin, splashing over the ruined collar of his jacket. "This man's reaction-his temper-it is difficult for me to comprehend."

Connor shrugs. A remarkably human motion. "I don't know what to tell you. Gavin is difficult to understand as a person to begin with, and I do not blame you for finding him difficult."

"As it is, I sometimes do not know if his reactions towards me are amplified due to me being an android, or simply because he is an abrasive person already," Nines continues. He tips a hand into the water; the temperature is still lukewarm ( **101 F** ), and foamy with soap. Nines severely doubted the effectiveness of the remedy, but Connor had insisted it couldn't hurt. "I have seen anti-android sentiments before. But he is different; his reasoning seems to be personal, and regardless of how rarely he verbally lashes out at me, our other conversations are...limited. I cannot interpret anything from them."

He looks to Connor, who is quiet with thought. He still has his LED, circling yellow; a comforting reminder that regardless of their differences in deviancy and behavior, they are still similar in this regard. Not quite released from their own self-identification. Nines isn't sure if Connor kept the light for his sake, or for some different reasoning; he decides that it would be pointless to ask.

Finally, Connor speaks up, after a moment of silence asides from the running water. "I...believe Gavin's resolute...distancing from you, could be attributed to many things. I have not looked into his past, nor do I intend to, out of respect, but I suspect part of his coldness towards you could be attributed....well. Let's just say him and I have not always been on such...cordial terms. And there is still some residual dislike from our past interactions."

"Well?" He quirks his head. "If you don't intend to be straight with me, will you show me, at least?"

Connor extends a hand wordlessly. The skin melted away up to his wrist, lines of blue glowing faintly between the white panels of his segmented fingers.

Nines takes it, and-

**LOADING . . .**

**CONNECTION ESTABLISHED**

_"-been dreaming about this since the first second I saw you."_

_The voice registers as DETECTIVE REED'S, accompanied by the faint click of a drawn gun. Connor doesn't need to look, doesn't bother to turn. The man's footsteps are ( **APPROXIMATING...** ) four meters away, near the door._

_"Don't do this, Gavin," He says, in a measured tone. Calm. Assertive. Talking down a feral beast. "I know how to stop the deviants."_

_There's a slight intonation in his voice when he says: "You're off the case," as though humored. Derisive. "And now? It's gonna be definitive."_

_The line feels smug, like the man had been waiting a very long time to use it and was very pleased with the opportunity. Connor doesn't bother to direct time into dwelling on it; he drops down just as the click of the trigger sounds in his ear, and hits the grounds just as the bullet cracks against the evidence wall. The bullet parts his hair, and he can analyze the gunpowder floating in the air like spores, before he kicks off against the linoleum and slides behind the terminal. A millisecond slower, and the bullet might've been lodged in his head._

_The barrel of Reed's gun passes into view, and he grabs it, pulling it from the man's grasp and kicking him backwards. He does his best not to break the man's ribs, but Reed is relentless, barely stumbling at the blow and immediately launching into a right hook._

_"Fight me like you mean it," he snarls, all teeth and venom, and aims a kick at Connor's leg._

_They grapple for the gun, Connor doing his best to protect the trigger guard from the man's grasping fingers. There's no hesitation. No regards for safety or logic, only the animal-like determination to win a fight. If it kept up, one of them was going to get seriously hurt, and Connor could not afford for it to be him. He needed to end this soon._

_He blocks a right hook and responds with a shove, knocking Gavin against the terminal surface with a thump. The man glares upwards, one eye in process of bruising, snarling with all the fury of a caught animal, and Connor ~~feels only a little satisfied~~ gives him a solid knock to the chin. There's the click of teeth knocking together. The man's unconscious body slumps to the ground._

**CONNECTION BROKEN.**

Nines jerks his hand away, the lingering, ghostly sensation of landed blows against his chassis and a bullet's breeze still on him. Connor's eyes are still shut, face pulled into a grimace as his exposed hand still glows, dimly, in the soft light of the bathroom.

"So." He mutters.

"So," Connor concedes with a sigh. He looks sad, watching the skin creep over his hand slowly. "Does that help answer your question?"

Nines nods slowly. Gavin's behavior was abnormal, as he suspected; but based on what Connor has shown him, it could be attributed to the sourness of a lost fight. A vendetta against androids that he had no outlet to vent anymore. And especially not with Nines around.

The curious concern he had been steadily nurturing for the man since his outburst over the FBI dissipates. It leaves behind a cold sort of anger. He had been wasting time, it seemed, on a man that had already made his choice in regards to his interpretation of androids.

Connor, noticing his silence, says: "I'm sorry I had to show you that. I don't want to hamper your relation with Detective Reed with my own experiences."

"No. It was helpful. Thank you." Nines replies. Very helpful. The anger turns from cold to red-hot and creeping, instabilities growing on the outskirts, being weeded out just as quickly.

In the mirror, he sees Connor's LED run yellow, blinking. "I need to go. Me and Hank are being called out." Connor spares him one more look, calculated care and worry. "Would you like to talk against after work?"

"No." Nines knows he knows enough on the situation now. He calculates, pre-constructs, and comes to an adequate conclusion. A solution to his problem. "Thank you."

He listens to Connor leave, his footsteps clicking smartly against the tile before being muted by the soft creak-click of the shutting the door. And then it is silence. aside from the water, still running freely in the sink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gavin: im gonna fight the combat model lol  
> connor: ok idiot. ok bitchboy. u wanna get decked u stinky little man? stinkman? baby boy? get fucked
> 
> i was hoping the memory transfer scene would come off more...frightening...more emotional to nines but tbh it's hard. it's hard to write connor as anything other than the badass that he is. he's a combat model fighting a human shitlord in close range. i tried.
> 
> also this took way to long to get out. am i sorry about that? yes. is this going to influence how fast i upload the next chapter? man who knows


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont know how the fbi work and i frankly dont care that much to find out. just pretend that this is how it works in 2038

When Gavin catches Nines outside of the conference room some time later, after his very meditative smoke break and long enough after his outburst to feel suitably embarrassed about it, he finds the android standing stiff-backed and at attention, arms crossed behind his back in a soldier's rest. He's ditched the obnoxious Cyberlife jacket, and Gavin manages to find it in himself to feel guilty about it.

"Hey," He says awkwardly, and then, because he has no plan for how to actually go about this: "You good?"

Nines just stares back. Stony-faced. Like he'd spent all his time learning how to be friendly and never bothered with anger, and couldn't figure out how to express it right. _Uncanny valley,_ a memory echoes at him, making something in his stomach drop. He bites back a shitty remark about it; he's got no place to be acting like an asshole right now.

"Listen, I'm..." He swallows. The words are like hot food in his mouth, prickling and uncomfortable in his mouth. He rolls it around, trying to reason with it, spits it out. " _Sorry._ Really. That was a dick move, I was stressed out and shouldn't have...I was pissed."

"You were pissed." Nines echoes, so monotone that Gavin shudders a little at it. "So you threw a coffee at me."

"I've been edge on week. I didn't-listen. I wasn't thinking-"

"You weren't thinking."

" _Listen._ " He's distinctly aware that he's grasping at straws, in the face of Nines's bluntness. His palms are slick with sweat as he fumbles on his words, and Nines just keeps on staring impassively, like he's insignificant. A small, insignificantly fascinating thing noticed out the corner of his eye. "I didn't mean to, I swear. I-I've just been so-so stressed lately. The case, and everything-"

Everything. The case. The cat. The FBI agent that Gavin had hoped to never see again in his life, the agent that they were going to be face-to-face with in literal minutes. And Nines.

"Would you have done that if I were a human coworker?" Nines interrupts. So coldly and bluntly that Gavin winces at the question.

"No, but-"

"Were you expecting me to deflect the projectile you threw at me?"

"I-what? I don't know-"

"What were you hoping to achieve, Detective?" And now Nines takes a step towards him, and he instinctively takes a step back. "Were you hoping to do harm? To get rid of me?"

"What the fuck? What?!" Gavin feels his heart beginning to pound, blood rushing to his head and filling his ears and making it hard to think. "No, of course fucking not-"

"I am inclined to think you were." Nines is too close. Gavin feels the proximity like a wave of electricity, small and prickling and nauseating. He can't bring himself to look up, because he's afraid of what he'll see; he's not sure if it's better if he sees Nines glaring down as a human might, or if he looks up and is faced with another unnatural mask of apathy. "Why wouldn't you be? Why wouldn't you want one less 'tin can' in your way? Why don't you tell me how you really feel?"

Gavin can only gape, mouth opening and closing on words he keeps second-guessing on himself. Like a man in a minefield. Not sure where to step. "I-I-"

"Gentlemen!" A new voice calls.

And at once; Gavin has space again. Nines has moved away to a casual distance, resuming his soldier's pose and now smiling politely to the approaching figure. Gavin closes his mouth quickly and stands up straight as well, trying to will the sickly flush out of his face as the newcomer came nearer. The apology attempt could not have gone any worse, and he didn't even get the time to ruminate on it as his gaze falls on the other man and his stomach turns with recognition.

"Agent Perkins," Nines greets, and Perkins grins like they're all old friends.

"Hello, Reed," He says, slightly nasal, ignoring Nines entirely. His nose is significantly more crooked than Gavin remembers, and he's sporting a several days old stubble and a few eyebags. Gavin guesses these are results of his involvement in the Revolution. "Made Detective, I see."

The derision is evident. "Hello, Perkins," Gavin replies. "Get demoted recently?"

He can't help the quip; it was almost instinctual. It probably won't help his dangerously threatened chances of staying employed, but he draws a sick satisfaction from how Perkins's lip pulls back in a sneer.

"You grew a smart mouth since I last saw you."

"Thanks. You didn't grow anything smart at all."

"I see Fowler's finally hitched you with some supervision," Perkins nods to Nines. "An android one, too. I can't imagine you were too happy about it."

"I'm thrilled." Gavin grits out.

He'd manage a better retort if not for Fowler walking over, a tablet under one elbow and a cup of coffee in the other hand. The captain eyes all three of them as he approaches, scrutinizing, scanning for trouble. "Gentlemen."

"Captain Fowler," Perkins and Nines greet in turn, almost in unison, and then shooting each other perplexed and irritated glances. Gavin just settles for a nod.

"I hope you've all gotten acquainted?"

"Like friends," Perkins grins around a clenched jaw. "I see your station is getting quite progressive, Captain. First Connor, and now this." He makes a gesture at Nines, who raises one eyebrow coldly.

"My name is Nines, Agent." Nines replies smoothly, and Perkins face turns a shade darker.

So much for getting acquainted like friends. Gavin watches Fowler sigh, probably already regretting putting them all together for this, as if that was in his jurisdiction at all. Like throwing preening roosters into a single, tiny enclosure. Ruffled feathers were the least of his worries.

"Captain, if I may," Nines continues. "May I speak to you privately after this?" And Gavin feels his heart jerk to his stomach, unpleasantly. His eyes dart to Nines - was that bastard smiling? - and he looks away just as fast.

"Sure, sure. Let's get inside first," Fowler says, voice raised only slightly.

* * *

The briefing goes smoothly. Partially because, in Nines's belief, of the fact that Gavin had been mostly silent the whole time, fidgeting quietly and staunchly refusing to look at him. A frown is stuck on the man's features the whole time, deepening especially when Perkins is offering input in his nasally voice. But otherwise, he seems subdued, only offering gruff replies to questions. 'Yes's and 'no's. Hardly anything else, save for when he's asked to give a summary or his findings in regards to the case.

The android counts it as a slight victory. It feels suitable that Gavin should be afraid of him; a man afraid of being replaced by an android should face that fear, given his foul behavior in response to it. His heartrate spikes every time Nines speaks, and Nines feels a strange sensation grow in his chassis after it. A slight warmth. _Satisfaction,_ he decides.

Less satisfying is the way he seems to sour and wither when Perkins speaks. The FBI agent is repulsive in his arrogance and barely-concealed disdain towards Nines, even more so than the detective, and Nines does not have nearly the same leverage over him. That bothers him; he knows he is being belittled by the agent, and it irks him that he and Gavin should share a common enemy. Connor once said 'an enemy's enemy is your friend.' In the moment, Nines felt that that couldn't be any less true.

By the end of the briefing, they have an objective. Gavin, being the one with the most history with the case, is asked to cross reference his knowledge with FBI data. He and Nines are to construct a cohesive collection of evidence and knowledge for FBI review. The FBI will obtain warrants for any investigation they deem necessary and will be invited on any further investigations when needed. Perkins wryly mentions that it's possible their suspect may have died in the Revolution; there hasn't been any new incidents since then.

Nines suspects that Perkins thinks their suspect is an android. It is a possibility, certainly, but Perkins's suggestion seems sprung from bias, and not necessarily logic. He files the idea away into his own private dossier for the man for later inspection. The man's file was already growing, and none of its contents were particularly indicative of a good nature.

That asides. The briefing was a success. A few of the other agents are less antagonistic than Perkins. One agent ( _YALE, EVERETT)_ catches him as it wraps up and apologizes for Perkins's behavior. Another agent ( _ABRAHAM, HELEN_ _)_ shyly tries to solicit him for his phone number, telling him it's to add him to a groupchat with the other agents to 'facilitate exchange of insight and ideas for the sake of the case' (he declines this politely; if he has insight, he can send it to them independently, and he already knows all of their phone numbers.)

Fowler stops him as he's leaving. They are among the last in the room; Gavin throws them an unreadable look as he leaves, hands fisted tight in his pockets. Fear is read from his hunched stature, his quickened heartbeat. Nines watches the door close behind him.

"So," Fowler says, when it's just them. He's picking up some of the case files, scattered across the table. "What did you want to ask me?"

Nines smiles.

* * *

Gavin stifles the panic down, shoves it away, out of sight, not quite out of mind. He focuses his composure as he walks in direction of the parking lot, realizes he won't make it in time, and redirects his route to the bathroom.

There's something embarrassing about breaking down in a public bathroom, surrounded by stalls and sinks. It reminds him of being a kid again - a shitty teen with a bad temper and worse coping mechanisms, hyperventilating on the grimy tile floor. He grips the edge of the sink, knuckles white, as he stares at his reflection in the mirror, face pale and lurid in the pale lights.

 _Calm_ down, he hisses at himself, right foot rapping a sharp tattoo against the ground and he squints, sinking teeth into his cheek to stop his lip from trembling. Blood follows quickly. His chest feels like it's about to burst. His eyes sting; tears turn his reflection glassy just before his vision gets warped. Like he's looking out of a fishbowl. It does _feel_ like he's a fish, caught out of water and unable to breathe, as his chest tightens and loops a noose around his lungs.

The thought is enough to make him laugh, choked and sharp, and it startles him enough to give him the push he needs. He swallows down the small sounds in his throat and reaches up to scrub at his eyes with a clenched fist, feeling nails bite into his palm. He's suddenly self-conscious, angry with himself for the pathetic display. _Crying in the bathroom, ha_. A quick glance around confirms none of the stalls are occupied, at least.

What was he crying about, anyways? Anger pushes up, familiar and therefore comforting in that familiarity. A job's a job a job. Sure, he liked being detective, had been gunning for lieutenant; but careful thought dictated that it didn't really matter to him if he got fired or not. No point in crying over spilled milk. No point in losing tears over a job that wasn't fun anymore; the past few months have been nothing but _annoying,_ all pestering and irritation from Nines's ilk. And then there was Perkins, and the case that got nowhere, and Turtle-

(Turtle wasn't related to the job, but. Well. Something about home life and work morale and all that.)

He stands up straight. Who gives a shit, he decides, scathingly. A job's a job's a job, and anyways. Even if Fowler decided this was the last straw, security's always hiring ex-cops. Never mind the fact that most security jobs have been staffed by only androids for the past few years, but there's always a chance. Slim chance, but a chance.

He settles on this line of reasoning and astutely concludes that he doesn't give a shit what Nines tells Fowler ( _Sour grapes,_ some part of him mutters, and he ignores it) and at least he wouldn't have to deal with Perkins anymore, if that was the case. It's a small comfort, if you can even call it that. But it was enough for him to man up rinse his face in cold water, hoping it would take away any evidence of crying.

The door opens.

He sees Nines in the mirror's reflection before he registers anything else, distorted by the water on his face, and he spins, each muscle immediately tensed. The android stands tall, unyielding, looking down, as always. Ghost-like; if it wasn't for the LED, he could be a ghost, or a statue.

"What," Gavin says bluntly. He sounds a lot more put together than he deserves to be. Cold water drips down his back.

"I was looking for you." Nines replies, just as blunt. "You disappeared after the meeting. The FBI left an additional mention that they wanted to look into registered deviant profiles and see if they match up with any domestic models that could be involved in the incidents. They had forgotten to talk about it during the briefing."

"Let me guess. Perkins said that."

"Hm. Astute reasoning."

Gavin sighs. "Yeah, figures. Alright, may as well get started on that now."

He goes to step past Nines, and for a moment it looks like the android won't budge, and Gavin stops to avoid shoulder-checking him; but then Nines steps aside so he can pass.

He pauses in the open doorway. His curiosity eats at him, stronger than his anger, his anxiety, even his exhaustion. "What were you talking to Fowler about, anyways?"

He says it casually, but it hangs. He feels the seconds that tick by in silence sink claws into him, drag him down by the guts. _Curiosity kills the cat,_ he thinks. Maybe he was better off not knowing. He's not sure how he'd handle the answer.

Nines cocks his head, birdlike. "I asked him if I could take a brief leave to deliver my jacket to a dry-cleaners." He responds. And a slight, self-assured grin spreads across his face, and Gavin is reminded for an instant about Perkins and his asshole smirk. _Shit-eating_. "Nothing more."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can the passage of time hop off my nuts for a _second_ i'm so tired
> 
> anyways enjoy. i recently got an inspired kick to finish this, and i chose a great time to work towards that while finals are starting
> 
> if i had posted this yesterday i would've included an obligatory 'go vote' but. well. there's nothing left to do now but knock on wood

**Author's Note:**

> og -> https://archiveofourown.org/works/18180059
> 
> wrote this originally in the new era discord! at: https://discord.gg/UqX9ZTM


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